She drank deeply from her own skin, uncaring that some dribbled down onto her chest and chin, wiping away the excess with the back of her palm before stooping to refill it once more.
He did not like to think of how thirsty she must have been, of the discomfort that must have been so new to her. He was used to labour, to exhaustion, working fields and tending to crops and animals alike, and occasionally pushing his body beyond what was comfortable or wise. But Penryn had known such a different life, one of books and quiet corners, and surely she had never known a day’s hunger or thirst.
Unless the sages had purposed to make her endure to prepare her?
The thought was a disturbing one, and he was certain it was not something he ever would have questioned before.
Or something he should be questioning now.
Grimult wondered if Penryn would insist on a wash now, and although she looked at the broadening water with a hint of longing, she made no comment of it. He was grateful, as he did not wish to disappoint her. Better they keep moving and use their evening for such pursuits, enjoy clean skin before a good sleep.
Hopefully one that proved better for the both of them than the last.
“Relieved?” Penryn asked abruptly as they continued on their way. The water was growing deep enough that they would soon have to decide which side to walk upon. Instinct told him to keep rightward, but perhaps that was a mistake? Penryn made no objection, however, and he supposed if his choice was a poor one, it would only mean a quick flight to the other side. Slow and steady so the flame was not affected by the current.
“Very relieved,” Grimult had no trouble admitting. They lapsed into silence again, and for a strange moment, he considered teasing her. If it had been one of his sisters he would not had doubted it, would have reached over and tugged at the end of her long braid and she would have pushed at him with a roll of her eyes, succumbing to his hug with a huff of protest although secretly pleased by the entire exchange.
But he found that he did not wish to pull on Penryn’s braid. If anything he wanted simply to touch it, to see if it was as soft as it appeared, neatly tucked away as it was in a simple plait. She had bound it with a leather cord, black against the brown of her hair.
“What?” Penryn asked, bringing her braid over her shoulder and inspecting it. “What are you staring at?”
Alarmed that his notice had been equally observed, Grimult took a step away from her, keeping his attention carefully on their surroundings. He had no business questioning the softness of her hair, nor of indulging fantasies of touching her in any way that was not entirely for her benefit, whether for comfort or for safety.
“Grimult, tell me true, if there is some creature crawling in my hair...” Her voice was high and strained with alarm, and her eyes were as frantic as he had ever seen them. It seemed a strange fear, most especially given the surroundings they had endured for these last weeks, but evidently it was a true one all the same.
‘There is nothing,” Grimult promised her. He should elaborate further to set her at ease, but he worried that the truth would not accomplish his aim and only distress her more. She would not want to hear a confession that he had gawked at her as if she was a common maid from his village. She was...
The Lightkeep.
The reminder was akin to swallowing a stone, his stomach heavy with regret and shame that he had forgotten, even for a moment, that she was not simply a woman. She was more and he...
He was as bad as the initiates he had thought so tiresome in their lechery.
Penryn pulled at her braid, eyeing him strangely. “You are making me nervous,” she admitted with a tight laugh that had little to do with humour.
He took another step away from her, widening the gap between them as they walked. It was not his intention to discomfort her, never that, and he was growing all the more horrified at his own behaviour. “That is not my desire,” he gave in answer, not knowing what to do, either with himself or for her.
Things had become all a jumble since he had taken her flying. They had carried on pleasantly until then, a gentle accord between them. But now...
The desire to touch her was a terrible one, and he had indulged it too often already. The want to see her smile was prominent, to banish her tears and her upset. He had pretended for a long while that it was merely his duty as her Guardian, but if he was honest enough with himself, that was not the case at all.
He cared because she mattered to him, because she was lovely and sad, and he wished her to know a better life than the one she had known thus far.
Was that so very wrong?
Instruction screamed at him that it was. That he was forgetting himself, that the careful boundaries that had been drilled into his mind for the past two years were not to be breached or laid aside.
And yet he wanted to do so.
He gripped his hands into tight fists, trying to turn his thoughts, to breathe as his instructions had shown him, to clear away the cobwebs of his mind and focus on what mattered.
A smell hit him first, strange and unknown. Not entirely pleasant, heavy through the air. It was not the smell of rot or of death, a carcass stripped not quite clean and left for other scavengers to find.
Penryn was looking about, something in her manner suggested she was searching rather than idly glancing around her for the source. If she knew the cause, she did not say, and
